


Duty Calls

by DeathlySilent13



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27264427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathlySilent13/pseuds/DeathlySilent13
Summary: Roy and his team have been stationed in the East for the last three years assisting in the rebuilding of Ishval after advocating strongly for them to regain full Amestrian citizenship. They have just returned to Central, only to discover that things were not left the way they thought.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 24
Kudos: 64





	1. Shock

**Author's Note:**

> My muse and Google have, once again, conspired against me and started another story with a fervor that I simply cannot ignore. Post-Brotherhood, though Ed has retained his automail and his alchemy. I'm citing creative license on it and hiding away, 'kay? 'Kay!

The gentle shuffling of boxes being unloaded and dust being swept from unused desks had quickly become a pleasant backdrop. Brigadier General Roy Mustang hadn’t much missed Central, if he’s being honest, but he’d missed being in the middle of the military’s epicenter. Fuhrer Grumman had kept in regular contact, and while it was certainly to keep abreast of what progress had and had not been made in the East, it was also rather nice to keep in contact with an old friend. This also ensured that Roy knew most of Central’s news ahead of most of the city’s own. 

He’s thrown from his musings by the sound of the outer door being flung open. He sets his pen aside, steepling his hands just as the frantically approaching footsteps result in Warrant Officer Kain Fuery flinging his personal office door open. He ignores the rest of his team staring openly, except for Hawkeye, who’s merely logging everything with her peripheral vision should her gun be required, and focuses on the wide, slightly panicked eyes of the subordinate who’d just barrelled into his office. 

“Yes, Warrant Officer Fuery?” he asks, keeping his voice level. He tries very hard not to speak down to his team, they’ve chosen to stay with him through some terrible things and deserve better. He won’t scold without reason, nor will he chastise the sudden and uninvited appearance. It doesn’t happen unless something is horribly wrong. 

“Did you know?” Fuery asks breathlessly and faintly accusingly, still looking far too spooked for the General’s liking. Considering what they’ve survived and stood with him through, that combination doesn’t bode well at all. He doesn’t speak, just raises an eyebrow, but the small motion is enough to get Fuery talking again. “It’s Alphonse, he’s _here_. He’s down in Records in full uniform and everythin-” 

Anything that might have come after is drowned out by the exclamations from the outer office. Even Hawkeye’s on her feet, demanding to know what else Fuery saw. Mustang stands, back straight, and walks to the door, which has Fuery backing out to allow his passage, and everyone falls silent to look at him, to study him. Every man (and woman) in this room has developed a fierce protectiveness of those boys, after all. If he’d hidden something of this caliber from them, Mustang has no doubt they’d turn on him in a heartbeat.

“No, I did not know,” he says softly, though every single soul in the room knows him well enough by now not to be fooled by the deceptively even cadence of his words. “Though I would very much like to find out why I was never informed.” They know Grumman had kept in contact, and they know why. Roy Mustang does not habitually surround himself with stupid people.

“If Alphonse is in uniform, then Edward is guaranteed to be here as well,” Hawkeye comments softly. This has everyone pausing, Mustang included. The elder Elric has never worn the uniform, despite four years of active military duty, and had turned in his pocketwatch days before he’d taken Alphonse back to Resembool to recover. He’d never intended to return, and there’s not a soul who participated in the final battle on that cursed day that could blame him. Even if he’d stayed, Edward would have never allowed the military to get their hooks into his brother. Mustang’s stomach churns at the possible implications of having the younger Elric in uniform. 

Needing to get everyone back on track, Mustang clasps his hands behind his back. “Right now, it doesn’t matter. We only have a limited time frame to get settled back in before people start asking questions. We are being watched closer than ever after our time back East, and much of the Ishval project’s fate rests on how well Central takes to what we’re bringing in. I have an appointment to see the Fuhrer this afternoon. I expect you all to look like you’d never left by that time.” He doesn’t wait for comment, pivoting on his heel and returning to his office amidst a chorus of salutes. They have an image to maintain, and he’s always been scrutinized. Ever since Ishval, ever since he’d sworn to make a difference. Today is no different. 

He doesn’t bother closing his door all the way. He doesn’t have the latest delivery of reports yet, and now there will be a silent inquisition besides. Sure enough, just as he’s settled behind his desk, Major Hawkeye slips in, the door shutting firmly behind her. She approaches, setting the stack of folders on his desk, and simply watching him. She’s not one to pry and badger, but she’s known him longer than just about anyone. She doesn’t have to utter a sound to speak. 

He sighs, pulling the stack in front of him but not bothering to open the first file. “There are a very small number of reasons he wouldn’t have said anything, Major, and I like each subsequent option I come up with even less than the previous.” He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t have to. She knows. She always knows, from the concern to the fear he would never admit to himself, to the unholy churning of bile in his gut at what it might mean that they’re still trapped after everything they’ve survived and achieved.

“They’ve survived this long, Sir,” she said softly, and it’s a testament to her steadfast faith that she doesn’t quail beneath the look he levels at her, even as he’d never mean such a dark thought at her directly. “They’ve survived worse, those brothers. I’d bet good money they’re both in Central. It took a literal country-wide apocalypse to separate those boys, Fuhrer Grumman doesn’t stand a chance. Whatever the reason, they’re not helpless.” They’d never truly been helpless, even when faced with the likes of an immortal being who’d swallowed down the power so often called God. Those boys don’t go down without a fight, and they’ve never stopped fighting. Not really. Mustang knows this. But unfortunately, he also knows Edward Elric.

Sighing, he lets his head hang for just a moment. “Fullmetal was never proper military, no matter that he’s always been a soldier, a warrior. If they’ve got him in uniform…..then I have to wonder what they have smothered in him. He doesn’t capitulate. Grumman threatened Alphonse, that much I’m sure of; Fullmetal wouldn’t have come back for anything less.” The unspoken accusation, the urge to know what else he hadn’t been made aware of, burns through him. He has to take a slow, deliberate breath to swallow back the rage that rises alongside the thoughts swirling within him, and sits up straight once more. 

Taking a cue from his sudden correction of his posture, Hawkeye sets his planner beside the file, and proceeds to break down his day and reiterate his deadlines so they can stay on track. The rest will have to wait until he meets with the man who’d kept it all a secret. For now.


	2. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy Mustang reports to the Fuhrer and learns what he'd been blinded to.

Mustang walks into the familiar office of the Fuhrer, having been waved through the open door by the secretary almost before the outer door has closed behind him. He stops three steps in, clicks his heels together, and snaps off a salute. “Brigadier General Roy Mustang reporting, Sir,” he says clearly. Grumman chuckles and waves the formalities off, though not before they’d been performed. Mustang notices, though he doesn’t let on as he relaxes, closing the door behind him and taking the offered seat. 

Fuhrer Grumman sits back once Mustang has been seated, pinning the man with a shockingly sharp stare for a man so often laughing and flirting with the female population. Few know the true depths of his ambition, and Mustang knows within seconds of arriving that attaining this desk hasn’t actually satisfied anything within the man. Grumman doesn’t speak first, but Mustang didn’t expect him to, either. 

Mustang gently lays a rather large file on the wide desk between them. He won’t ask the question Grumman is waiting for. He knows this game well, and knows just as well what showing a hand too early can cause. “The complete file on everything we’ve accomplished, as well as a full list of setbacks, for the rebuilding of Ishval. Scar has, of course, been instrumental in bridging most of the lingering tensions with them.” Grumman lifts an eyebrow at that, but Mustang doesn’t elaborate. Any questions above required information will need to be asked. 

He sits quietly while the file is flipped through by the older man. Grumman only has to skim most of it, he’s been kept appraised as things happened, the report is more of a formality than anything. “Why does Scar’s continued presence matter? Has he not been branded a heretic for his alchemy?” Grumman asks. Mustang doesn’t judge the question. It’s a valid one, after all. Scar’s actions are a direct violation of several of Ishval’s religious teachings, and they both know this. 

“The animosity between Scar and the military is well established on both sides, between the war itself and his actions against us after the fact. That he can work alongside us, and we can in turn work directly with him, has set a precedent with the rest of the Ishvalans. They are taking that to mean we may just be breaking the cycles of the past to rebuild the future. We’ve also taken great care to avoid using alchemy in any capacity in building out there. Purely out of respect, since they seem to be modifying their own views. They’ll likely never truly embrace it, but they’re willing to give those that have a second chance to return home. I believe Fullmetal is largely responsible for that.” He pauses, his expression never changing. Grumman had almost grinned when he’d mentioned Edward. Rather than be pleased that he’d caught his mentor in an almost-slip, Mustang finds that it only riles his anger. The Elric boys were never supposed to be pawns, yet here he sits having their name on the longest running game of the board. 

Grumman snaps the folder closed, sliding off to the side of his desk. This time, he does grin, of a sort. There’s nothing soft in the expression, and Mustang braces himself. “Surely you’ve heard by now. Furey came across the younger Elric this morning; don’t tell me you don’t know by now,” the elder man challenges. Mustang manages not to bristle outwardly as his fingertips itch with the urge to snap the smug look out of the old-timer’s eyes. Mentor or no, this is no way to treat them.

“Yes, I’ve heard.” He doesn’t care how short or clipped his words are, or whether his former mentor realizes Mustang doesn’t actually know everything yet. It would be far stranger to swallow the entirety of his anger, given how long he’d been in charge of those boys. Better to let the small sliver show and see what he can bring up without asking outright. He has no wish to be backed into that corner, and he’s most assuredly not there yet. 

Grumman’s face clears, going neutral, and Mustang could have laughed if they were discussing literally anyone else. It’s the clearest tell that the man’s been surprised, the lack of expression proof of the effort it takes him to hide it. Grumman had expected demands, outrage, or something similar, it appears. Mustang sits quietly, letting himself be studied avidly before a soft huff precedes the man’s next words. 

“You’re better at this now. Bravo. We’ll see how long it lasts.” Words to make men fear, and Mustang knows well that it’s a warning that he is absolutely not going to like what the man has to say. “I sent my personal assistant to that small little town in the East a few months after they’d gone home. She took a proposal with her. Those boys know entirely too much, Mustang. We can’t afford to let them go skipping through neighboring countries. I told them that if they returned to Central, I’d fast-track their State certifications. But only if both of them came. I threatened to have Alphonse arrested and tried for multiple counts of interfering in military proceedings, up to and including the coup he assisted in. Would have been messy, but that I’d bother to threaten was enough.” Gumman pauses here, and Mustang fists his hand at his side, out of Grumman’s line of sight. He’d been right. Alphonse’s freedom, the very thing Edward had repeatedly risked his own life for, had been threatened. Mustang has to bite back the haze of red that very nearly overtakes him, and this time he doesn’t bother disguising the pure, unadulterated rage as he pins his gaze on Grumman. 

Those boys would never have talked. Mustang knows this clearer than he knows his own name. Spilling those kinds of secrets would cause backlash from any of the neighboring countries, and it would be civilian lives, innocent lives, that would pay the price. They know this. And if there's one thing that Edward Elric knows better than any other soul in this world, it is the weight of a life. Those boys would carve out their own organs before they’d put innocent people at risk. Anyone who has ever met them knows this as well. Most of Edward’s medical bills over the course of his four years under Mustang’s own command had been because of risks he’d taken to keep others from being injured needlessly. That is who they are.

“I hope you’re prepared to shoulder the equivalent burden for stripping away the sole purpose of Fullmetal’s existence.” Mustang stands, and snaps to attention. “Will there be anything else, Sir?” He’s prepared for the disapproval in Grumman’s gaze, and it doesn’t cut quite as deeply as he’d expected. It might have, once. Seeing the Truth and his Gate and facing down a veritable god changed quite a few things for him, however. He's faced far heavier things than one man's disapproval, and seeing what he has today has proven that Grumman is still angling, still striving. For power, for control, for something. That chair hasn't appeased anything. 

“No, that will be all for now, Brigadier General.” 

Mustang salutes, offers an expected parting word, and strides from the office far calmer than he feels. The urge to bypass his own office and go prowling through these halls for Fullmetal sears through him. He needs answers, needs to look in those golden eyes and know the boy he’d found broken and beaten and yet so full of fire is still okay. Too many eyes on him, he can’t afford to do anything so rash. He strides back to his own office, needing to get back to his team. They need to know. They’ll find Edward. They’ll find out. Carefully, of course, none of them can afford to be too eager. It explains why he’s being so carefully watched. Has nothing to do with Ishval, they want to see him react to the Elrics being here, being chained.


	3. Shaken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy has to break the news he's just learned to the rest of the team. Poor guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! You're getting two chapters today because this one is a fair bit shorter and I hate doing that to you all. It's necessary to set things up and merge Grumman's meeting with the next chapter, and I couldn't add anything without feeling like I'm drowning the importance of the chapter's purpose. So I'll get the next one up today as well, and hopefully you won't lynch me just yet. As always, comments are welcome!

He opens the office’s outer door, stepping inside and closing it softly behind him. It wouldn’t do to slam it, that would most assuredly be noticed. He leans against the secured door, eyes closed, and focuses on taking even, measured breaths to keep the strange mix of panic and rage at bay. He knows his team is in the room, knows they’re starting at him. He can taste the weight of their silence, but can’t seem to bring himself to step any further into it. It takes him three more breaths to simply lift his head, and the look on his face alone is enough to drop both Breda and Havoc into their chairs. Fuery had already been seated, and he visibly wilts. Falman is leaning against the wall, and makes no move to try and rise. His face isn’t nearly as expressive as the others’, but the way his shoulders slump speaks volumes anyway. Hawkeye rises slowly, as though he’d bolt if she moved quickly. Perhaps he would. She’s the only one who moves, though she doesn't attempt to approach him yet. He must look as deplorable as he feels. 

“Sir?” comes the voice of his reason, his control. And often, his executioner, depending on how far behind he is on his paperwork. He has to get a handle on this, he’ll never be able to save those boys like this. He’d already failed to do so once, and now they’re back here continuing to pay a price they never deserved to shoulder. They’d paid their dues, with interest, and then some.

Bracing himself, he takes a breath, and answers their collective unspoken question with no small measure of trepidation. “Grumman threatened to bring Alphonse up on charges for interfering in military affairs if both brothers did not take the State Alchemy exam. Fast-tracked their approval to keep them within military purview because they know too much.” The words taste like sand and bile on his tongue. He’d personally overseen the processing of Ed’s paperwork to get them out, ferried in the journalists into the hospital to keep this from happening while Central’s military picked itself back up. Smoothed their exit because they’d served their country thrice over. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were finally free, damnit. 

Five sharp inhales follow, framed by another round of glaring silence. He knows the feeling well. He expects outcries, but looking at each of their faces, he finds only concern and that expectant pause that says they’re waiting for orders. Of course they are. He’s always got a plan. He almost grins at their faith in him even now, which lightens his own thoughts just enough to get them back on track. The derailed mental train settles back into place, and he can almost taste the smoke as it gets up to speed once more. He will get them out of this. Nothing else is acceptable.

“We have to be careful. This explains why we’re being so closely watched, it’s less to do with Ishval and more about them being here. Edward made it clear they’re retired and going home. We encouraged the stories every major newspaper in the country ran on the matter to keep them free. People want a show, want a grand explosion of emotion over their return. Don’t rise to any of it. Fuery, you’ve seen Alphonse. See if you can get a conversation going, or lunch. Something small and expected. Keep it simple. I expect he’ll fill you in without much prompting once he realizes we hadn’t known. If he doesn’t, we know there’s a far deeper issue. Alphonse isn’t stupid, our silence could have only meant two things. I don’t know where the Fuhrer’s got Fullmetal, and there’s no way to ask without falling into the waiting traps. All of you keep a subtle eye out until Fuery can get us intel. Under the radar, all of you. We can’t afford to make waves. Not yet.” 

While they don’t stand and salute, everyone nods, solemn. They’ll back him because he’s not failed them yet, and they’ll help him protect the Elrics as best as any of them can. Consequently, he knows just as clearly that they’d turn on him in a fraction of a heartbeat if he ever even considered leaving those boys unprotected, undefended, unbacked. Those two can hold their own against things no one should have had to face, this is true, but the Elric boys are anything but alone now. As far as Mustang is concerned, this is just another reason in the ever-growing list of them to get himself to the top. Once he’s got Grumman’s seat, they’ll be free. Or the next poor kid that gets in over his head and bleeds repeatedly for this country and asks only to be allowed to finally sleep when it’s over. He’ll protect them all. 

He heads into his office, closing the door behind him. He needs a moment to get himself back together. There is work to do, unfortunately. He can’t afford to get bogged down, no matter how he feels. Leaning over his desk, he lays his palms flat on the wood and lets his head hang, focusing on the grain beneath his hands and the feel of the sun on his back through the window. He pushes the swirling thoughts aside for a second, using his senses to ground himself in reality and pull himself from the depths of his mind’s own guilt. They’re survivors, those boys. And if Alphonse had looked ill or run down, he has no doubt that Fuery would have said something. He has to believe they’re alright until he’s got irrefutable evidence to the contrary. He has to.


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Mustang and the team can breathe. They finally get face-to-face with the very people they've been looking for sinc their return to Central.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first real breather, folks. There's finally an Elric on site. Some answers, and some questions, because I seem to be good at that. As always, comments are welcome.

Three days pass without anything to report. None of them have laid eyes on Edward yet. Strangely, no one has offered the information, either. Mustang has begun wondering where Major Armstrong is. He always seemed to know where the boys were. Worst case scenarios have begun swirling in Mustang’s mind, and he’s rapidly devolving into a guilt-ladden hole. He should have kept track of them, should have made sure they stayed out. How many times had Edward faced that cursed Gate? How much has he really sacrificed for them all? Those brothers don’t deserve this, they should be free. They deserve to be free. 

He mentally shakes his head, trying to refocus on the report in front of him. He does need to finish this proposal in order to get vital supplies shipped to the East, to Ishval. Building materials, crops, and livestock if he can manage it. Enough to get them started again, at least. He knows now what they need, what they can’t procure themselves. It took time, considering who he is and what he’s done, but they finally opened up to him just enough. His sincerity will likely be tested, repeatedly, but he’s braced for it. He certainly doesn’t blame them for their caution. He’s given them reason. 

His office door opens, breaking him from his thoughts. Hawkeye stands there, waiting until he’s met her gaze to tilt her head a fraction of an inch. Most wouldn’t even notice, he’s already out of his chair. He knows her entirely too well to ignore the motion. Fuery has just barged into the main office, which doesn’t surprise him. The door doesn’t close until a striking blond head appears behind Fuery, which does surprise him. 

“Alphonse, it’s wonderful to see you,” Hawkeye says softly, and somehow she’s still heard around the laughing and back-patting of the rest of the team. Mustang only barely manages to retain his dignity, staying next to his oldest friend to study the younger Elric. He seems well, all things considered, though there’s no mistaking the silver chain at his hip. Mustang wonders idly what Alphonse assigned special weight to for his exam. While he’s every bit as proficient in offensive alchemy, he’s never been the one to use it first. Edward rushed in, Alphonse tended to stay back and minimize civilian fallout.

“Welcome back to Central, everyone. We’ve missed you guys,” is the reply, and thankfully the words seem heartfelt. Mustang wonders for perhaps the hundredth time where the elder blond is. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t have to. Someone will. For now, it’s enough to soak in the laughter that falls from Alphonse as Breda regales him with tales of one of Havoc’s many failed dates back East. It’s easy, falling back into the habits with an Elric among them once more. They’d always belonged among his team. 

Some might call it hubris. The reality, however, is that it isn’t any such thing, and their place here has surprisingly little to do with him. Edward fit in with his men, with their views, their aspirations, their dreams. Mustang has surrounded himself with people who believe in him, yes, but they follow him because they believe he is the key to achieving what they wish to see themselves. Change. Betterment. He’s not the lynchpin, not really. He’s just the one psychologically savvy enough to rise in this twisted game called politics and make it happen. 

“Yo, where’s the Boss at, Al? Nothing’s been demolished since we got in!” Havoc hollers suddenly, earning another round of laughter from all. While it started as a ploy to shut Breda up, the question is valid, and the nearly imperceptible quirk of one side of Al’s mouth verifies that he noticed every eye flicking to him. Al always had been the more observant of the pair. 

The vise in Mustang’s gut unclenches a fraction at the dismissive wave of Alphonse’s hand at the question. Lack of concern means there’s nothing seriously wrong. Or, at least, no more wrong than the fact that Alphonse Elric is standing in his office in full military uniform. 

“Brother’s due back any day, actually. He’d gone up north a couple weeks ago. Caught a rumor while he was chasing a rogue alchemy professor that there’s a guy specializing in living transmutation hidden up in the mountains. He wants to make sure everyone involved in making the Homunculi’s chimeras has been accounted for, and he’s positive there’s two missing that Marcoh knew of, so he detoured to check it out.”

Al shrugs as though his words mean nothing, but before Mustang can finish processing the horror of that particular series of words, Breda’s stepped in, forearm thumping down onto the desk. “Why’s he chasing rogue alchemists? He ain’t in Records with you?” the man asks sharply. Not subtle, but perhaps that’s best now that the ice has been broken. There’d be far greater worry if either Elric had been avoiding them, after all. 

Al laughs heartily. “Goodness, no. He’d have lost his mind and turned the bookcases into gargoyles inside a week. He’s over in Investigations. Prefers it over there where he can unravel puzzles and hit the streets from time to time. Helps that it’s what he’s always been good at doing, no matter what his original orders had been.” The blond pauses, giving each and every person in the office a look Mustang can only interpret as being weighed. Considering what he knows of their forced return, it’s valid, though he finds himself fervently hoping he still has their trust. 

Finally, Alphonse pins Mustang directly with a look far sharper and far more potent than anything he’d expected the younger man to be capable of. He’d always thought Alphonse soft. With startling clarity and a desire to check his body for wounds beneath that piercing gaze, he realizes in this moment just how wrong he had been. Alphonse is kind. Alphonse is not soft. There is more steel to him now than there was when he was a literal suit of armor. Mustang dips his head just a touch. Not any sort of concession, but an acknowledgement. 

He must have passed, because he’s addressed by the blond directly. “I’m sure you know by now the circumstances of our return,” Alphonse starts, waiting until Mustang nods again to continue. “The Fuhrer thinks he’s got us under his thumb. He’s wrong, but Brother has let it stand. He’s hinted at causing trouble to get his way on a couple things, but he’s got more up his sleeve than the Fuhrer realizes. I know what you’re expecting from him based on how he used to be. I get it. And sometimes that’s still accurate. But he’s playing a long game, Brigadier General, and playing it well. I ask only that you mind which boards you’re stepping on.” 

If Mustang were a smarter man, he’d quit trying to find words at this point. For the third time in twenty minutes, he’s left truly speechless. Tucked in this office, surrounded by people who have seen him in far, far worse condition than this, he lets his shock show. That he’s not the only one openly staring certainly eases the shredded tatters of his mind. 

“What kind of game, Alphonse?” Hawkeye asks softly, concerned. Mustang is reminded by her gentle but wary tone that Edward had gone to her for advice, after Bradley had scattered the team. She’d been a confidant for the elder brother, a pillar of support when his world had repeatedly collapsed and he’d had to face the worst of humanity’s truths. He knows the feeling well, she’s been the same for him for more years than he cares to remember. Of course she’s concerned. As much as he is, if not more so. She’s never settled down, never had any real inclination to, but those brothers bring out something in her Mustang had long thought stolen from her by the war in Ishval. 

Before Alphonse can answer, the outer office’s door swings open hard enough to bounce off the wall, making everyone except their visitor jump. The startled panic is short-lived, however, as the uniform-clad figure strides into the room, flinging an arm around Alphonse’s shoulders. The other hand holds a well-worn leather suitcase over his shoulder. Mustang would know that blasted suitcase anywhere, given how many times he’s watched it bounce off into the distance.

“Speak of the devil, and you’ll invariably show up to make him cry,” Alphonse mutters wryly, hugging the newcomer happily. Any further questions about the trip or the train are drowned as everyone rises, shock finally shaken off. Edward gets a much more enthusiastic and physical welcome than Alphonse had, though the latter doesn’t seem at all bothered by it. Mustang suspects it’s less to do with preferring one brother over another and more to do with the nature of the individual personalities. Edward has always been the louder and more rambunctious sibling. 

He watches Edward extract himself from the sudden crush, dropping his suitcase in the general vicinity of the wall with a surprisingly heavy _thud_. He gives Mustang a once-over and smirks. “Surprised Hawkeye hasn’t put holes in you yet for loitering around out here,” he quips, earning a genuine smile from the woman in question. 

“Excuse you,” Mustang retorts, mostly affronted, or so he’ll claim. “I’ve kept up admirably with my work. _And_ kept it legible.” He deserves the scathing glare he gets from molten gold, and the exasperation of the olive-touched honey just behind Edward. Hawkeye just turns, returning to her desk as Havoc proceeds to interrogate Edward on how many cute new girls there are in Central now. She rarely smiles, but the look on every other face assures him the easy banter was welcomed. He wouldn’t get Edward back in his office full-time, but if they can fall back into old patterns so easily, then they haven’t been abandoned by these golden siblings, either, and that alone means a great deal.


	5. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mustang and the team get a little more than they bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Another chapter up! Next Thursday is Thanksgiving, so there likely won't be an update. I should be back to my normal(ish) posting schedule following that. Until Christmas. Maybe. The buildup to the holidays suck. As always, comments are welcomed and loved!

It takes nearly an hour for the team to wind down, which is then punctuated by Hawkeye suggesting they all get back to work. Mustang would have smiled at the soft hum of Alphonse and Fuery conversing quietly over something if his inner office door hadn’t opened. He looks up, expecting Hawkeye bearing another stack of horrors masquerading as work to find himself face-to-face with a grinning Edward. The door clicks shut, and the blond sprawls out onto the couch Mustang had never bothered to remove from his office. He’s grateful now, welcoming the nostalgia despite the drastic change in attire.

The look Edward pins him with this time doesn’t contain any of the humor he’d held previously. Mustang is surprised to find there’s not any discernible trace of the unnecessarily overbearing attitude, either. He doesn’t know where to start, and so sits in silence looking over this boy he’d watched grow beneath the weight of things no man should have borne, never mind a child. 

Edward smirks, though there’s a weariness to the expression that hadn’t been there before; an expression Mustang knows well considering he sees in reflections regularly. “Al says you know what Grumman did,” he begins without preamble, as direct as ever. Mustang merely nods. “Look, I know you ain’t gonna wanna hear it, but don’t get involved.” He might have continued, but Mustang’s pen hits the desk hard enough to risk breaking it. 

He doesn’t care how dark his expression appears as he stares down the man at the notion. “Do you honestly expect me to sit idly by and watch you and Alphonse dragged around by the military’s leash again?” he asks, his tone biting. He can’t swallow his anger anymore, not when he’s being told to allow such gross injustice to continue directly under his very nose. Does the younger man not have any idea just how much it _hurts_ to see them caged like this? How many nights he’d laid awake praying they had finally found some semblance of peace amidst everything they’d had to bear witness to? 

Edward sits up, golden eyes burning, and a lesser man might have quailed. How bizarre. “You’ve been gone for three years. You’re way behind the curve on this one, Mustang. Just let it go. We won’t be here forever, but we can’t leave just yet, either, now we’re here. I know what I’m doing, alright?” 

“There’s no way you understand the game you’re playing, Fullmetal. Grumman is-” 

“I know damned well what Grumman is, you arrogant bastard! Don’t fuckin-” 

They both look up as the door opens, a face standing there that Mustang doesn’t know. The uniform is self-explanatory, but there’s something in the blue eyes that unsettles him. By the casual sweep of expressions in the other room, none of his team recognize the man, though Alphonse doesn’t look surprised. Does the younger Elric know who this is? Edward stands, facing the newcomer, and frowns. “What happened?”

Back straight, the corporal ignores Mustang entirely, which rankles quite a bit more than he’d expected, focusing on Edward with a click of his heels. “Forgive the intrusion, sir, but Captain Salermo heard we’d come back early. They’re already sniffing around.” Mustang lays his palms flat on his desk, fully intending to stand and correct the blatant disregard of his status as the highest ranking officer in the room, but Edward curses fluently before he gets a chance. 

Edward is on his feet quicker than Mustang can track, the look on his face disconcertingly dark. Whatever this means, Edward does not like it in the least. For perhaps the first time, Edward looks like a soldier, and an officer at that. Edward had never used his rank, never actually commanded anyone, and to see it settle over him so easily now throws the General for a strangely unsettling spin. Mustang freezes, hanging onto the unshakable iron of the orders falling from Edward as though it were commonplace and Mustang himself was nothing but a Private. “If they haven’t spotted you yet, head out through the north tunnel. Take the menhir, the stone tablets, and every last book we brought in. Don’t let them near it. Three clicks, northwestern corridor. Move!” 

The man in the door, and two others that had apparently taken up stances just inside the outer office, snap to and scramble the second Edward barks the last word in that bizarre series of orders. This is not the easygoing, loud-mouthed kid they’re used to from Ed, this is a full-fledged officer of the Amestrian military. Mustang’s team is left staring, slack-jawed, watching a serious, nearly murderous Edward scoop up the briefcase and bolt through the door himself, still muttering expletives all the way down the hall. Six pairs of eyes, including Mustang’s own, turn to stare at Alphonse, who has gathered up his discarded uniform jacket and is in the process of buttoning it into place without any trace of shock or horror. 

“Well then…..looks like we’re back in full swing already. I’m going to be swarmed tomorrow,” Alphonse says conversationally, acting as though this entire turn of events are entirely normal. Several comments that had been previously made by both brothers flit through Mustang’s mind, and he’s left wondering just how much he’d missed during his three years at Eastern Command. Perhaps this is the new normal, and they’re just that far behind the curve after all. Alphonse gets to the door, turning back with his hand on the handle to give Mustang a strangely amused grin. “I did warn you, Brigadier General.” With those parting words, he slips out the door and is gone.

##

Silence reigns as the door closes behind Alphonse, no one quite knowing what to make of the last two minutes. Strangely, Falman is the first to speak. “That’s gonna be one _hell_ of a long game,” he mutters, earning the glare of the entire rest of the room, Mustang included. Considering no one has any conceivable idea what had just transpired, the comment is slightly less welcome without a follow-up. 

Falman has the grace to look sheepish as he shrugs. “I recognize the name. Officially, Captain Victor Salermo works with the Fuhrer’s bodyguard detail. Unofficial rumor says he’s a weasel. Fuhrer’s eyes and ears, he’s one of three they say keep Grumman ahead of everything. Always watching, listening, reporting. If Ed knows that, and is intentionally dodging him, he’s up to something major. Has to be.” 

“Al said he was chasing an alchemist dabbling in human transmutation, though. How the hell did he bring a menhir back and get away with it? Or smuggle it in, that’s even worse; those things are massive,” Breda counters, staring Falman down. There’s no ire to it, and Mustang is content to let them hash it out. This is just how they operate, challenging each other's guesses and forcing a greater level of critical thinking than most people could withstand. Mustang has long encouraged it, both among his team and when they’re dealing with him directly. Hawkeye especially never takes his suspicions and ruminations at face value regardless of whether she agrees, always making him break it down and look at it from every angle. Strangely enough, it’s made him a better alchemist as well as a better leader.

“Could be he stumbled across it looking for the guy’s hideout. No one really knows what’s under the snow up there,” chimes in Fuery, looking almost eager to brainstorm something complicated again. “Or the alchemist he’d been chasing was hoarding it. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing a Bradley-era alchemist kept on hand.” There was a lot of humming and nodding at that, the Bradley-era distinction made a difference, unfortunately. There wasn’t really any way to challenge that piece of it, though even Mustang himself was starting to get curious. 

“They’re not chasing secrets anymore, Al’s got his body. Why’s he dodging Grumman’s lot?” Havoc mutters, almost thinking out loud. The observation has even Hawkeye furrowing her brow. The question is valid, and has everyone pausing. There’s no easy answer. The display they’d just witnessed proves that this isn’t the same kid who would hide things for spite, or to prove some juvenile point.

“Either he stumbled across something again, or there’s far more in the Fuhrer’s game than we understand,” she says softly. Mustang doesn’t know which option he dreads more. Trust Edward to find another earth-shaking secret. If there was anything out there, he’d stumble over it. Conversely, the latter option would most likely mean that not only are they all out of the loop, Grumman has played them all. That their return to the East likely started as a means to get them out of the way while Grumman assimilated the Elrics back into the military without serious opposition.

Mustang sighs, drawing every eye in the room. “For now, it appears I simply have to concede their point. We are three years behind the curve. And, much as it pains me to contemplate, it would seem that Fullmetal may actually know Grumman better than I had anticipated. For now, all we can do is continue to put the pieces together and stay under as many radars as possible so we don’t jeopardize whatever Fullmetal is doing.”

With that declaration, he returns to his office, leaving them to their banter. He’d be informed if any major revelations came about, but until then he was regrettably losing sight of his desk, no matter what he’d told Fullmetal earlier. Settling into his work, he shelves all thoughts of what sort of game the blond could possibly be playing until he had ample time to mull it over. Perhaps he’d go see his mother, she always had rather strange insights into such things.


	6. Realization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mustang learns things he never knew he never knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone. We had a recent death in the family, so I've been AWOL since the last post. Unfortunately, this might be my only update for the month. Between helping the family and the crushing approach of the holidays, I'm stretched a little thin. I will return to continue these after the new year, I'm not vanishing, I promise. Stay safe guys! <3

Two days later, Mustang finds himself headed to Investigations. He needs a file, or more accurately a series of them, for one of his arguments for releasing the Ishvalans from travel restrictions. He doesn’t know what he’s walking into, not really. There’s been no word from either Elric since the show in his office. He has made a valiant attempt to avoid fretting over this, and would admit to no one that he has failed miserably. 

Stepping into the main Investigations office proves to be an exercise in patience. There’s a strange flurry of activity, and he’s not immediately noticed. For once, he doesn’t mind, using the opportunity to observe from against a wall out of the way. He doesn’t recall so many being within this division before, especially since at least a dozen seem to be moving outside the general flow of the office as a whole. They’re favoring a particular back office, and after the way he’d been ignored when that corporal came into his own office looking for Edward, he’s filled with questions. 

Several people of notable, commanding rank seem to be missing from the office, including the blond he knows should be here, and he gathers what files he needs with relative ease once he’s gotten a handle on the general direction of the flurry. It’s a simple matter to fluster a Private who seems to do little more than man one of the desks covered in phones and files to be returned to their spots. Necessary documents in hand, he walks out, heading straight for the motor pool. It’s late enough that he’ll just take it home and review the files he collected with a nice glass of brandy. Briefcase in hand, he reaches the door and wonders yet again where Edward is and just what he knows of Fuhrer Grumman. He hasn’t seen the elder brother since that day in his office, and the surety with which Edward had told him to stay out of it opens a fresh slew of questions regarding where he’s been and what he’s doing.

Three of those seemingly endless questions are answered as the aforementioned Elric surfaces from between a pair of pillars. Those are replaced by twice as many more when none other than Fuhrer Grumman himself steps close to the blond, followed by a captain looking irked enough that Mustang would hazard this is Captain Salermo. Edward snaps to attention, which makes Mustang’s heart seize in a most unpleasant way, no matter how quickly the formal stance is discarded again. He takes a cautious step backward, making sure he’s around the corner and out of sight. There’s just enough of an angle that he can see the captain’s face reflected against a marble plaque embedded in one of the pillars. A memorial of one kind or another, he doesn’t remember, and at the present moment doesn’t care.

“I don’t have that report yet, I’m still breaking Marcel Reyes’s cipher. Had to stop working on that and close the Maxwell investigation this morning.” Mustang listens to Edward rattling off details, though he hasn’t the faintest idea who either of those people are. The cruel smirk on the captain’s face makes Mustang’s fingertips itch. He doesn’t know anything about this arrogant sod, which means he’s not nearly important enough to be looking at Edward that way. No one should ever level such a look at either Elric, not after what they’ve done and withstood. 

He’s pulled out of his musings by Grumman’s voice, all trace of the easy-going persona he'd long grown used to gone. “You got back days ago, Fullmetal, and yet we don’t even know what you found on your little side trip. I’m going to assign someone to Records to keep close to Alphonse if you don’t toe the line, boy.” Mustang very nearly gives himself away at those words. Grumman isn’t even attempting to hide his cold disposition now, and if Mustang is being honest with himself, he doesn’t know the man he’s hearing now. His mentor has never been so blatantly callused. He’d have never taken Grumman for cruel. Calculating, yes. But never cruel, not like this.

“You put anyone down there to harass my brother, Grumman, and I’ll tear your office apart,” Edward says darkly. “I know exactly why your lapdog here was sniffing around, and I’d bet damned good money you don’t want anyone knowing he’s got a thing for milking stallions. Don’t push me, old man, or I’ll start pushing back.” The words are delivered in a low, menacing snarl that chills Mustang’s blood more than the content of the words themselves. Once again, he’s at a loss. This isn’t the Fullmetal he knew. This isn’t easy-going, roll-with-it-all-and-laugh Edward. Not even close.

Amidst the gentle scoffing and sputtering of a man who’s been had and the muttered assurance from Grumman that the accusations will be discussed later, Mustang catches the click of boot heels and the mostly sarcastic “If that will be all, Fuhrer, sir” that comes from Edward before scuffing suggests Edward had turned away from the pair of older men, rather effectively cutting off any further attempts at conversation.

Mustang hears footsteps echo, two slow sets of military boots walking towards him, and a lighter, more hurried pair of shoes approaching from the street. Mustang tucks himself back into a side doorway, where he wouldn’t be readily visible if the men cleared the corner, and strains his ears to catch the newcomer. Grumman and the captain pause just before stepping from the shadow of the building as Mei Chang’s voice echoes all down the marble, from the stairs to the pillars. He knows she speaks a greeting by the chipper tone, and knows she’s addressing Edward because she speaks the name, but the rest is a jumble of Xingese that makes absolutely no sense to him. 

More shocking still, Edward replies in kind, the foreign language falling easily from him. He can hear Grumman mutter a confused and irate “What the-” and Mustang knows in that single unguarded instant that the older man had no idea Edward spoke the language. Military boots hurry on, this time heading straight out instead of turning to stay against the building, and are promptly collected by a car. Mustang waits until they’ve driven off to emerge from where he’d been, peeking around the corner to find Edward and Mei still chattering away in fluent Xingese.

Just as he turns to make his way towards his apartment, the pair switch back to Amestrian, and Mustang’s blood chills all over again. “Are you sure, Edward? You wanted to wait last time I visited.” 

“Yeah. He’s threatening to send a babysitter down to harass Al. Not gonna let on that Ling’s already offered to house us both with full Imperial protection yet, it’s still too soon for that one if I’m gonna pull any of this off. But he needed the reminder. He may have me in this monkey suit, but I’m damned sure not anyone’s fuckin’ dog.” 

Mustang listens carefully to the sounds of the pair heading down the stairs, likely headed for the park and the street vendors given the time and the seemingly-endless capacity of Edward’s stomach. He has to gather himself, and pivots the moment he’s sure his knees will hold and heads for the Western Gate and the motor pool there. He suddenly has someplace far more pressing to be than the armchair in front of his fireplace.


	7. Shockwaves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy visits a confidant and learns even more that he had no idea he didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! (Mostly) Still working, so this will still update, it just may not be the same weekly-ish schedule anymore. But rest assured, I haven't abandoned this. It's too much fun to write. As always, comments are welcomed and encouraged and the more times I can smile stupidly at my phone, the further I get! <3

Mustang has to brace himself as he steps from the cab. Biting back the urge to nearly sprint down the street takes greater effort than he’d admit to, and the leisurely stroll he needs to maintain is nearly painful. It takes only minutes to arrive at the bar, and he slips through with ease, waving to the bartender as he heads directly for the door leading up to the Madame’s private study. He knows he won’t be waiting long, but he can’t bear the bar’s main rooms right now. 

He’s barely settled in one of the two armchairs in front of the fireplace when the door swings open and Madame Christmas walks in, puffing away on a cigarette. She doesn’t badger him, closing the door and taking the other chair as though there’s all the time in the world. “You alright, kiddo?” she finally asks. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, dropping the facade he lives in to let his foster mother see the agony he’s in. She sucks in a breath, but doesn’t say anything more, content to wait him out. She’s well used to him, to how easily he gets tied up inside his head. Finally, Roy drops his head into his hands and tells her everything he’s seen since his return to Central. He doesn’t hold anything back, baring his rage, his fear, his uncertainty, because she knows him better than even Hawkeye and will figure out how to put him back together again. 

She’s silent for several minutes after he’s run out of words, studying her boy while she figures out where to begin. “One of the girls went on vacation about half a year after you went back East,” she finally says, and his head lifts to see her face. “Made it just in time for that Yao kid’s formal coronation. Both those boys were there, and the bodyguard detail didn’t even try to keep ‘em away from the newly minted Emperor. On the contrary, they were kept close and watched as well. That boy of yours has friends in damned good places.” 

He takes the info in, logging it with everything else, but can’t figure out her message within it. He just doesn’t have the room for any more. He finally sits back, slumping against the chair’s back and rubbing his hand down his face. He doesn’t know where to start, which is keeping him off balance. He hasn’t felt like this since Ishval. Even leading up to the Promised Day, he wasn’t this unsettled. 

The Madame sighs, taking a long drag and exhaling the smoke into the fire crackling in the grate. “I’ve kept an eye on him since you left, kiddo. You aren’t going to like hearing it, but I’m with the kid on this. You’ve been in the East, you haven’t seen him. He’s learned things, leveraged things. Did you know he’s got a whole troop under his direct command? And from what we’ve gathered, every last one of ‘em is a former soldier. He brought the chimeras back in, and gave them a place, reactivated their military dossiers. Has to police them himself, in case they start losing it, something about instabilities within the interwoven genomes or something. Kid’s changing things, Roy-boy, and playing Grumman like a lute. He’s got a plan, and even we don’t know what his endgame is. Bring ‘im by sometime, I wanna pick his brain.” 

Roy blinks, and stares. “You’d need a full excavation crew to get through his brain,” he mutters, not entirely coherent yet. It’s the only thought he can put words to. The sheer brilliance that is Edward Elric is something that even Roy himself fears to delve too deeply into. He knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wouldn’t be able to keep up. Ed is a genius, a true, honest-to-goodness genius. Roy’s good, but he’s nowhere near Edward’s level.

He’s floored by the realization that whatever Ed’s doing, he’s good enough to keep it from the Madame’s network. That shouldn’t be possible, she’s got eyes, ears, and people everywhere. He’s completely adrift, and there’s a vague part of him that recognizes that he’ll have to sit down with Edward directly to get answers. Given how well that tended to work before, he’s hesitant, and smart enough to realize that his hesitancy will only create problems. Edward isn’t a boy anymore, no matter that all Roy still sees is that ten year old kid in a wheelchair with eyes that had already seen too much. Eyes he’d had to personally put the fire back into. 

He looks up, surprised to find the Madame smirking at him as she snuffs out the butt of her cigarette. “Think the world of that boy, don’t you?” she asks, and it takes everything he has to not bristle. He knows what she means by the question, and what she doesn’t. He shouldn’t be this damnably ruffled by it. 

“He’s proven himself multiple times over. Both those boys have. We had the answers right in front of our faces for years, and we didn’t know it. Edward figured the Homunculi and the Stone out. Al figured out Father and Scar’s brother’s notes on that reverse Transmutation Circle. We’d have been done for if not for those two. They literally saved this entire country.” 

She laughs, and this time he does let his face fall into a mild glare. There’s nothing amusing about their trials, and he’s sorely tempted to voice that, no matter that she’d likely strangle him for it. “I live for your smitten pride routine, Roy-Boy. Warms my heart to see it, even if those boys won’t ever realize how invested you are in their future. Riza’s still a Mama Bear with ‘em, I take it?” 

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to. She cackles again, pulling herself out of the chair and clapping him on the shoulder as she heads for the door. He doesn’t make any move to leave, and she closes the door behind her so he can safely lose himself in his thoughts. He’d never have dared consider himself any sort of parental figure for those boys. He knows Edward’s hang-ups on the matter, and knows equally well the kind of damage that automail fist can do to a man’s face. But he’s also learned very well that when Chris Mustang drops that kind of bomb on you, there’s no escaping the shockwaves.


	8. Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE! Ish. Mostly. Been a wild ride lately, apparently I'm not allowed to relax yet. But I got this up at last, so here we are. Spent almost a week without power because the weather hates us all, or this would have been up last week like I'd originally intended. As always, comments are welcomed and loved!

Mustang walks into the office the following morning managing to look far more put together than he feels. Sleep had eluded him after his visit to the bar. He takes his trench coat off and hangs it in his inner office, leaving his briefcase on his desk. He needs to get to work, but there’s a far more pressing matter to address first. 

Returning to the outer office brings everything to a grinding halt. He doesn’t speak, giving Fuery a hand sign they’d perfected years ago. The man scrambles immediately, grabbing three devices from seemingly random locations and passing one to Breda and one to Havoc. It takes a mere sixty seconds for Havoc to nod that there are no bugs transmitting from the outer office, and for Breda to nod his own confirmation that Mustang’s personal office is equally clear. Two minutes after that Fuery stands from where he’d hunched against the wall, tucking wires back into a box. 

“We’re clear. No bugs, no taps, no listening devices of any kind, Sir,” Fuery reports, putting everything back where it had been. 

Mustang nods, steeling himself. “I overheard a conversation last night between Fullmetal and the Fuhrer,” he begins, and somehow everyone goes yet more impossibly still. “I didn’t recognize the man. He wasn’t just calculated when he spoke to Fullmetal, he was cold. Calloused. He threatened to send a babysitter down to Alphonse, and….” Mustang pauses, taking a breath as he remembers hearing that chilling tone. “Fullmetal is most assuredly not a boy any longer. That was a man with knowledge and leverage, and the way he snarled at Grumman may just have made Olivier Armstrong proud.” 

_“WHAT?”_ squeaks Havoc, echoing what the rest are likely thinking. There is shock and disbelief and touch of fear on every face, except Hawkeye, but her eyes are wide enough to qualify anyway. 

Mustang gives them all a wan look. “It gets worse,” he says, and Breda visibly shivers. “They speak fluent Xingese. Spent the coronation of Ling Yao as personal guests of the new Emperor. And…..he ran into Mei Chang as Grumman and that Captain walked away. They didn’t know until he conversed with the girl in her native tongue. They switched back to Amestrian when she asked him if he was sure he wanted them to know now. He said it had to happen to keep a babysitter out of Records, but he isn’t going to let on to them yet that he and Alphonse had been offered asylum with full Imperial protection. Grumman doesn’t know that if he fails to mind himself, those boys will defect to Xing and be completely untouchable.” 

He waits out the ensuing silence. There’s one last piece, but he’d just unloaded enough on them that they need a minute to adjust. He’d certainly needed most of the night himself, and a little more brandy than might have been wise. 

“I almost miss when he was just a boy trying to make sense of the world,” Hawkeye whispers. Mustang aches for her, but there’s nothing he can do. Not this time.

“Not even the bar knows what his endgame is. Though apparently the troop he has are all chimeras, and they’re under the same loophole the Elrics are regarding chain of command. He got the former soldiers Lab Five had experimented on back in, reactivated dossiers, gave them a purpose again.” 

“The ones that came in when Ed got back? Wondered about the funny vibe they gave off,” Fuery squeaks, still trying to work his way through what he’d heard. They all were. 

Mustang just nods at Fuery’s words. He’d gotten the same feeling from the one that had come into his inner office. Something he hadn’t been able to pinpoint about him. Considering the history they all have with chimeras, he’s not as surprised as he probably should be. 

He settles into a chair, needing to work through a couple things himself now that he’s gotten the worst of it unloaded. It’ll give his team a moment to work through everything he’d just unleashed. He trusts every last member implicitly, of course, and he wouldn’t dream of keeping such things from them. They’ve earned the right to know what’s going on with the brothers, each of them caring far more than most ever would. Every soul in this room has seen them battered and bleeding and watched them continue on anyway. 

He loses track of his surroundings for several minutes, thoughts flying almost faster than he can keep up. There’s a larger game here, there has to be. Grumman got everything he wanted, there isn’t a need for the Elrics to be here. It's supposed to be getting better, not worse. He frowns, letting his thoughts churn. They’ve missed something. There’s a major piece they haven’t accounted for yet. 

He glances up, finding most of the team back at work, though he has no doubt Hawkeye’s keeping careful track of his every twitch and breath. Havoc glances over at him, and sits back in his own chair with a thoughtful sort of despondency on his face. 

“So what now?” the man asks softly, and Roy simply lifts an eyebrow.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, sitting himself upright once more. It’s a loaded question, and encompasses several avenues. They won’t sit idle, he knows that much. “Nothing we can do right now. We don’t know nearly enough.” Roy says softly. 

He holds up a hand as they gather themselves to argue, needing the extra second to rally his own thoughts. “We won’t sit idle, but there’s several things missing. This isn’t like Grumman. There’s something significant we haven’t accounted for yet. Jean, I need the pulse of the city. The rumors, the whispers. I don’t want to rely on the bar, it seems the Madame is impressed enough with what Edward’s accomplished that she’s with him on our potential involvement. I wouldn’t put it past her right now to give me the pieces spread out enough to keep me from acting since even they don’t know Edward’s angle.” 

“Breda, you and Falman focus on getting the same from inside Central Command. We need to know what changed.” He pauses again, remembering his trip to Investigations. “I guarantee things have. There’s a separate flow, we just need to identify it. You saw the ones who came to report to Edward. They're military, but the hierarchy is outside what we’re accustomed to. They answer to Edward before anyone’s rank. I want to know why.” 

Fuery shifts uncomfortably, fiddling with his pen. Roy stops his thoughts, letting the man be recognized and gesturing to him to continue. 

“It’s just…..I mean…..we stood with you. Against the ranks. Against the Fuhrer himself, even,” Fuery says hesitantly. 

Mustang grins. “Exactly. They’re all trained soldiers, by the sound of it. If they’re standing with Fullmetal against the brass, there’s a reason. I’d like to know if it’s an extended sense of loyalty because they’re Chimeras and he brought them back, or if there’s more.”

Everyone nods. It’s a fair question, and one they’ll definitely have to answer to know how to work with and around Edward. And Alphonse. Mustang suspects they’re helping watch out for the younger brother as well, if he’s right about their loyalty. The biggest issue there is the reason. That will dictate several things. 

Hawkeye looks at him, setting her pen down. “I’ll most likely end up going to dinner with my grandfather this weekend,” she says softly. “I’ll let you know if he says anything revealing.” 

Mustang mentally flinches. She’s going to have a hard time of it if they have to unseat another Fuhrer. He nods once, intending to apologize, but she shakes her head before he can. “If what you overheard is the new baseline, then he’s not the man he used to be. If so, that isn’t something I can overlook, especially when it’s Edward and Alphonse he’s hurting. None of this is right, and I refuse to let those boys shoulder it alone. We will do what we must, just as we always have.” 

Somehow, those words, sombre as they are, get everyone back to work. Mustang stands, heading into his office and the paperwork that awaits him there. There’s nothing else they can do, for now, but carry on as they are


End file.
